


every action has its equal opposite reaction

by Sanna_Black_Slytherin



Series: The Other 51 [20]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: (a little), A Christmas Gift, Acephobia, Alexander Hamilton: national bisexual disaster, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Asexual James Madison, Banter, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Tree, Eliza Schuyler: Did Not Sign Up For This, F/M, Fluff, Friendship, From Me To You:, Gen, Hamilton and Jefferson are frenemies, Humor, James Madison: forced to witness this, Light Angst, M/M, Politics, Snark, Thomas Jefferson: drugs drinks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-09-11 20:24:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9015133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sanna_Black_Slytherin/pseuds/Sanna_Black_Slytherin
Summary: Standing outside Hamilton's home, hand in the doorbell, Thomas asked himself again why he had accepted Hamilton's reluctant invitation. Sure, they were soulmates — it was public knowledge at this point — but it was equally known that Hamilton hated him with a passion, an emotion Thomas fully reciprocated.
A Christmas story, soulmate AU style.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [the effects of your life on mine](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8941324) by [Sanna_Black_Slytherin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sanna_Black_Slytherin/pseuds/Sanna_Black_Slytherin). 



> This work is a modern version of sorts of my previous fic.
> 
> Merry Christmas, y'all!

Standing outside Hamilton's home, hand in the doorbell, Thomas asked himself again why he had accepted Hamilton's reluctant invitation. Sure, they were soulmates — it was public knowledge at this point — but it was equally known that Hamilton hated him with a passion, an emotion Jefferson fully reciprocated.

Hamilton had, for God's sake, singlehandedly created the #annoyingsoulmates tag on Twitter. Thomas had insisted that there was no way he was Hamilton's soulmate. James smirked and mumbled something along the lines of 'every action had its equal opposite reaction'. Thomas didn't know what he meant by that, so he chose to ignore his partner's special brand of crazy.

Their presence at the Hamilton residence probably had something to do with James using his disappointed puppy eyes on him every time he'd so much as think about finagling an excuse to escape it. (Hamilton's face when they would show up against all odds would also make it worth the inevitable arguments.)

“Remind me again: why have I agreed to this?” Thomas muttered to James, who sighed in exasperation.

“Because it would be beyond rude to decline your soulmate's Christmas invitation,” he repeated patiently, having said it more times during the past week alone than he cared to remember. “Besides, Washington will be there, so this is your chance to win some favour with him by showing him that you are willing to look beyond old enmities.”

Thomas grimaced. “Point taken,” he conceded.

“Well?” James indicated the door, his voice bordering on reprimanding. “It's not going to knock itself.”

Thomas sighed dramatically, as was his wont, and rang the bell. The door opened to reveal a slightly out-of-breath Alexander, his hair more disheveled than usual with more than a few stray hairs sticking out of the ponytail. His clothes were rumpled – not that they were all that formal to begin with, being a simple tee-shirt and jeans. Alexander's eyes skimmed over James and zeroed in on Thomas. His gaze hardened. “Jefferson,” he said at length.

“Hamilton,” Thomas replied in the same tone. They both stood still, glaring at each other, unwilling to back down from the unspoken staring contest.

“No need to be so affectionate,” James groused as he breezed past the two men into the house, finding the kitchen with Eliza and John already in full motion. “I made a cake,” he announced.

Eliza smiled a blinding smile. “Thank you, James,” she said, indicating that he should store the cake in the freezer.

James cast a look around, taking in the organized chaos that were the Christmas preparations. “How can I help?”

Eliza pursed her lips. “You can begin by getting Alexander and Thomas inside. They are letting out all the heat. If you accomplish that, join us, and I'll bring you up to speed.”

* * *

Getting Alexander and Thomas inside proved to be more of a challenge than James had initially anticipated, not the least because they, while individually both highly intelligent and reasonably mature adults, reverted to the mental mindset of a pair of six-year-olds each time they so much as came within ten feet of each other.

“Jesus Christ, Hamilton,” Thomas barked, “you make more than _two hundred thousand dollars_ , and you still wear… those rags?” he gestured helplessly at the other man's clothes, seemingly at a loss for words.

Alexander shrugged. “Washington makes twice that, and you don't see _him_ showing off like you do. _You_ , however – you have a private jet and a holiday cottage outside of Paris, and the only reason I know this is because you've been flaunting the fact for the past three years.”

Thomas looked ready to retaliate, and James decided that it was high time to intervene before they came to blows. “Gentlemen,” he began in a tone of perfect civility that Thomas had come to recognize as pure unadulterated bullshit, “you are both rich and talented polymaths. Stop trying to outdo each other. Now, come in and shut up.”

* * *

Upon entering the house Thomas discovered that everyone else had already arrived. The Washingtons were setting about lighting the fireplace (Thomas spared a second to be impressed by the fact that Hamilton even _had_ a fireplace); Lafayette and Mulligan took to gleefully decorating the Christmas tree with much more gusto than the action warranted; and the remaining two Schuyler sisters were sorting through some boxes whose contents Thomas was frankly dreading to know.

Alexander and Thomas watched quietly as Eliza and James took control of the kitchen in a way that was nothing short of totalitarian, effortlessly delegating tasks to John, and smoothly moving around each other despite never having worked together before, working in silence only sometimes broken by a succinct request to pass some ingredient or other.

Alexander and Thomas wore identical expressions of adoration as they took in the scene before them. Thomas smiled. It was moments like these that made him realize that he was so in love with James that his chest ached.

Thomas exchanged a glance with Alexander. “Can I help?”

Alexander smirked. “You just sit there and look pretty. After all, I wouldn't expect you to know how to actually do things for yourself, Mr 'I have people who do that for me',” he mimicked mockingly.

Thomas glared. “There is nothing wrong with employing help when you need it,” he objected.

“There _is_ a difference between letting someone help you and ordering them to do everything for you.”

Thomas rolled his eyes. “Just because you have some kind of obsessive-compulsive disorder that prevents you from being in anything but full control of everything, doesn't mean that everyone feels that need.”

“That's because I have learned that if you want something done well, you need to do it yourself,” Alexander retorted hotly.

“And how's _that_ working out for you?” Thomas taunted.

Alexander opened his mouth to respond but was interrupted by Angelica, who had evidently decided to intervene before the matter got out of hand. “Alexander, why don't you help Lafayette and Hercules decorate the Christmas tree?” she asked sweetly, her tone brokering no arguments.

As Alexander walked off, grumbling to himself about being bossed around in his own home, Thomas slid up to Angelica. “Thanks,” he murmured.

She shot him a passing look. “Don't mention it,” she replied. “No, seriously, don't mention it in front of Alexander. I would like it if everyone got through this Christmas unscathed. Now,” she said briskly, “you have a choice: you can either Alexander and the guys with their…” she glanced in the direction of the Christmas tree, where Lafayette had inadvertently encased himself in tinsel, “their endeavour,” she finished awkwardly, “or you could help Peggy and myself sort out the rest of the Christmas decorations.”

So that was what it was. Thomas cast a speculative look at the Christmas Tree Decorating Team, then shook his head. “Thank you, but I think that I'll pass,” he said sardonically.

Angelica nodded her head as f she had been expecting that reply – which, knowing Angelica Schuyler, she probably had. “Then come on. We've got work to do.”

* * *

After much debating and several arguments that nearly led to bows, James called everyone to dinner. The food, Thomas had to admit, was downright _divine_. He nearly moaned when he tasted the stuffing. He swallowed, then asked, “Who made the stuffing? Because it's delicious.”

“I did,” Eliza admitted with a smile.

“God, Eliza,” Thomas groaned, “this is heavenly. Can you make this more often?”

“Thomas,” James shot him a disapproving look, “what did we say about exploiting people?”

“Only to do it if I can get away with it?” Thomas tried.

James glared. “No, Thomas.”

“Yes, Thomas,” Thomas grinned.

Peggy groaned. “This isn't even funny anymore.”

Angelica grinned. “Methinks they know that,” she explained. “They're not even doing this to get a rise out of each other. They're doing it because it's a habit, and they like it. Also, they think they are funny, except they really aren't, but nobody wants to tell them that.”

Alexander snorted. "Well, you just told us that,” he felt the need to point out.

Thomas shrugged. “It's true,” he said. “Upon further thought, we aren't nearly as funny as we think.”

“Speak for yourself, I'm hilarious,” Alexander retorted, though without his trademark passion.

“You really aren't,” Angelica shot him down.

There was a momentary silence where everyone focused on the food on their plates. Thomas reached for the pumpkin pie, and began to cut it up with his knife. He felt someone's eyes on him, and looked up to see Hamilton stare at him incredulously. “What?” he said defensively.

Alexander wore an expression that indicated that Thomas had just insulted him on a fundamental level. “What are you doing with that pie,” he didn't even phrase it as a question.

Thomas looked down at his plate. There was nothing wrong with the pie. He said as much.

Alexander scrunched up his nose. “You are eating it with a fork,” he clarified. “Nobody eats a pie with a fork.”

“I do,” Thomas objected, “and it's because I, unlike _some_ people,” he said pointedly, “actually care about my hygiene and the bacteria on my hands.”

“Jefferson,” Alexander said slowly, as though explaining something to an infant, “that's why people wash their hands before and after the food. You aren't going to get some disease just because you eat pumpkin pie with your hands.”

“How do you know that?” Thomas retorted.

“Do you want me to calculate for you the exact chance of eating with bare hands endangering your health? Because I can do that.”

James rolled his eyes. “Just drop it, Hamilton. Thomas refuses to eat pizza with his bare hands, so I doubt you can get him to eat pumpkin pie without a fork.”

Thomas stuck out his tongue at James. “Well, _you_ eat tacos with a fork, and have anchovies on your pizza, so you're in no position to throw stones."

"Hey!" Alexander objected. "I like anchovies too. There's nothing wrong with anchovies."

Thomas rolled his eyes. "There is everything wrong with anchovies," he replied darkly, as if the mere existence of said food offended him on a fundamental level. He turned to James. "Are you sure he's not _your_ soulmate?" He took perverse satisfaction in watching James choke on his drink.

“So,” said Alexander abruptly, stabbing a vegetable with more force than necessary, “are we going to pretend that we don't know about you two dating?”

“ _Alexander!_ ” Martha hissed reprovingly.

“What do you mean, Hamilton?” Thomas asked, taking care to keep his face and voice carefully neutral.

Alexander rolled his eyes. “It's positively obvious to any person who has eyes that you two are so sweet on each other that it's a bit disgusting.”

Thomas thought about rebutting Alexander with an 'I don't know what you're talking about', but Alexander barreled on. “How long have you been fibbing?” he asked, surreptitiously innocuously.

“How long have you known about us?” James fired right back at Alexander, apparently coming to the conclusion that, since there was no way to stuff their relationship back into the closet, they might as well find out for how long they have been so painfully obvious that even Alexander Hamilton, who once memorably failed to notice that the curtains in his office were on fire – Thomas was never going to let him forget that – picked up on their liaison.

Alexander shrugged. “About eight months?” he replied uncertainly. It came out more like a question than a statement. He turned to John. “That sounds about right, doesn't it?”

“Since April,” John confirmed. “Which happens to coincide with Thomas' birthday, doesn't it? How very naughty of you, Mr Madison,” he grinned lasciviously.

Jams flushed furiously, ducking his head to avoid everyone's searching eyes. Thomas, meanwhile, began a staring contest with John. “Not that it is any of your business,” he began frostily, “but James and I aren't like that.”

“I'm not comfortable with anything beyond cuddling and making out,” James elaborated, eyes still fixated on the wooden floor.

Alexander blinked. “At all?” he asked, the tone in his voice incredulous. “But how do you even–“

“Sex isn't all that important,” Thomas snapped at Alexander, wishing for nothing more than for Alexander to just _shut up_ for once. He regretted his decision to come here at all. “It might be a little hard for you to understand, but it is possible to have a thriving relationship without fucking each other senseless.”

Lafayette raised his hands. “ _Restez calme, mes amis_ ,” he said serenely. “We are here to enjoy ourselves, not to argue.”

“Those two are not mutually exclusive when it comes to Alex,” Hercules mumbled. “Nor, I suspect, when it–“

Lafayette punched him lightly. “I am trying to restore peace here,” he hissed. “Do not interrupt me.”

“Yes, Master Skywalker,” Hercules said sarcastically.

They continued eating in silence punctuated only by the occasional murmur of appreciation. Predictably, Alexander would be the one to break the silence. Thomas felt Alexander's gaze on him and looked up. “ _Qu'est-ce que c'est?_ ” he snapped.

Alexander Hamilton, being Alexander Hamilton, blurted out the question without it passing through his, admittedly all but non-existent, brain-to-mouth filter. “Is that a hickey?”

Everyone stared at him. Then, as if coordinated beforehand, they all turned to look at Thomas, who did indeed have a mark that looked suspiciously like a hickey on his neck. They then looked at James with narrowed eyes.

James blushed. Thomas rolled his eyes. “I frequently play the violin, Hamilton, in case you have forgotten. Get your mind out of the gutter.”

Alexander mumbled something as Hercules, and John laughed awkwardly. The dinner resumed its normal pace.

* * *

After he finished his food, Thomas stood up to stretch between the dinner and the dessert. He also wanted to get away fro Hamilton, who spent every minute he wasn't making dopey eyes at either Eliza or John, staring at him judgmentally. He entered the living room, planning to relax on the couch for a few minutes, but something caught his eye.

“What did you do to the Christmas tree?" Thomas exclaimed in outrage once his eyes adjusted to the sight of the monstrosity that passed for a Hamiltonian Christmas tree.

"What do you mean?" Alexander retorted defensively, somehow appearing at his shoulder like a very persistent jack-in-a-box that kept popping up at the most inappropriate moments.

"In case you didn't know, the ornaments should be put on _before_ the tinsel,” Thomas said, resisting the urge to go over there and correct it.

Alexander scoffed. "You heathen," he retorted, "it's the other way around.”

“Yeah, right,” Thomas said skeptically.

"Says who?" Alexander challenged.

"The French," Thomas smirked.

Alexander rolled his eyes." It might have escaped your notice, Jefferson," he said condescendingly, "but we are not, in fact, in France. We are in America, and we are in _my_ house, so we do it _my_ way."

Unseen, Eliza and James exchanged long-suffering looks conveying the 'I can't believe I'm dating this asshole' sentiment perfectly.

"Besides," Alexander continued blithely, "Lafayette didn't seem to mind."

Thomas rolled his eyes. "That's because Lafayette is more American than French."

Alexander smiled acerbically. "That should balance you out quite well, then, since your loyalty lies more with France than with your own country these days," he said lightly, but his tone belied the condemnation in his words.

Thomas matched Alexander's smile. "Keep talking, you Anglophile hypocrite."

" _Okay,_ " Martha said loudly and clasped her hands when everyone else simply darted looks between Alexander and Thomas like they were watching a particularly entertaining tennis match, nobody being quite brave enough to get between the two men. "Who wants dessert?" she smiled. "I have it on good authority that James makes the best black forest frozen cheesecake."

“Yes, please,” Eliza said, looking at Martha like she had just rescued Eliza from a pit of venomous snakes. James agreed with the sentiment.

* * *

Once they had finished the cake, Lafayette, Hercules, Alexander, and Peggy were delegated to dish duty, while the rest of them settled down in the living room. Washington turned on the TV but kept it muted, and they all watched the screen flash with images they had no context for, their minds blissfully blank after the amount of food they consumed.

The four unfortunate souls soon joined them in the food coma. Alexander lazily leaned against John, squinting at the television. “Is that Rudolph?” he said suddenly.

John kissed his forehead. “Don't even start, Alex.”

“The last time we watched Rudolph, he went on a tirade about how Rudolph was the victim of xenophobia and albeism,” Eliza explained when she saw the blank eyes they were receiving.

“But it's true!” Alexander insisted. “Rudolph's nose made him a victim of the, quite frankly, blatant bullying and discrimination from the other reindeer, which is obviously a symbolization of the discrimination faced by minorities in the modern society.”

Eliza put a finger to Alexander's lips. “They don't need the entire rant,” she said long-sufferingly.

“No, by all means, go ahead,” Thomas injected. “It gives me great satisfaction to listen to you get so worked up about something so trivial as a cartoon reindeer.”

“It's not just that, though, and if you can't see it, then you are even more–“

“It is in moments like these that it is painfully obvious that the two of you are soulmates,” Hercules said from his spot on one of the other couches. He received two identical glares return. He raised his hands in defense. “I'm just saying, you are kind of proving my point for me.”

Alexander did not deign that with a response.

“That reminds me of your Shakespeare argument,” Peggy piped up, not looking up from where she was kicking someone's ass in Wordfeud.

“Which one?” Alexander asked. “You'll have to be more specific.”

Peggy rolled her eyes. “That one with _Romeo and Juliet._ It was downright _vicious_ ,” she shuddered at the memory.

Alexander scowled. “That's because Jefferson here,” he indicated Thomas, who stuck out his tongue at Alexander, “thinks that _Romeo and Juliet_ is a beautiful tragedy about toxic hatred conquered by love, but it's actually–

“–just a cautionary tale about shallow lust and the stupidity of youth,” Thomas groaned. “You've said it before. _Repeatedly_. And you're wrong.”

“No, I'm not,” Alexander insisted.

“You know, you are so smart that it is scary,” Thomas began condescendingly, “but I confess that I don't understand what Eliza and John see in a man such as yourself,” he jeered. “Your opinions are do incredibly wrong, and you don't even see it.”

Alexander glared. “Since we are soulmates, methinks that says something about you,” he retorted.

Washington groaned. “You are not having this argument again.”

“Again?” Peggy grinned. “That means that you've heard it, sir?”

“Yes, unfortunately,” Washington winced. “They held it right outside the Oval Office, for reasons I have yet to fathom. Now, I would like to enjoy my Christmas Eve, so pretend you are both Burr.”

After a while, Angelica stood up. “I think it's time for gifts, wouldn't you say?” she said in a tone that implied that any opinion to the contrary was irrelevant to the matter at hand. James nodded, in lack of anything else to do. “Good!”

Angelica then disappeared, only to return with an armful of gifts. They had agreed to previously draw names for Secret Santa. James got Lafayette, who was easy to shop for since he sent out a wish list to the entire group two months in advance, but Thomas got Angelica and sweet Jesus was she a challenge. The only thing Angelica wanted that she didn't have was a presidency (or equal rights for women, but she figured that it was easier to attain the presidency, and it would have the beneficial side-effect of strengthening women's position in society), and that was about the only thing Thomas could not give her. Instead, he finally settled on a gorgeous dark-red evening dress, with no little help from Eliza and Peggy, that he knew she would have ample opportunity to use. (The dress may have exceeded the price limit, but Thomas never let any price tag stop him before.)

Angelica had to go thrice to get everyone's gifts, but they eventually settled down. Peggy, as the youngest, was chosen to hand out the presents one by one.

Alexander was the first to receive his gift. He opened his present to find a beautiful, homemade scarf, which Thomas found fitting since Alexander always complained about the freezing weather. Eliza received a book about architecture, a latent hobby of hers that she rarely had the time to indulge in. John got a drawing pad, Washington several new collars for his myriad of dogs, Martha painted mugs with depictions of Mount Vernon, Hercules a book about Victorian fashion trends, and Peggy exotic seeds for her garden. When James opened his gift, he could not help but gasp. Inside was a pair of elaborate, clearly lavish cufflinks.

Thomas was last, receiving a new jacket. It was bright-pink. Thomas loved it from the very first moment. He did not know who had bought it for him, but he sincerely hoped that it wasn't Hamilton because he would have hated to appreciate something that Hamilton had uncovered.

“Lovely gifts,” Peggy said buoyantly, Angelica being too busy studying her dress in open adoration to talk.

“ _Maintenant_ ,” Lafayette suggested, “let us drink.”

James protested immediately. “We have to get back by–“

“Nonsense,” surprisingly, it was Martha who said that. She smiled. “You are staying until tomorrow.

“No, I couldn't–“

“You _are_ staying overnight,” Eliza reiterated Martha's words, her voice firm. When Thomas opened his mouth to argue, she put a finger to his lips and shushed him. She kept doing that until he gave up on protesting. Alexander and John exchanged amused looks. “Here, have a drink,” she offered a glass to James, then to Thomas.

James exchanged a meaningful glance with Thomas but gave in and took a deep drink. He hummed appreciatively. “This is really good,” he said.

“Thank you,” Peggy said. “I chose it.”

“I'm weirdly thankful that someone here has good taste in wine.”

“What am I, wet garbage?” Thomas grumbled.

“You drink only French wine,” James objected, “but beyond that, you aren't picky. You like 1991's Bordeaux, for Pete's sake.”

“Well, what's decent French wine, then?” Lafayette challenged.

“Château Rayas, 1990 or 1995,” James replied promptly. “My favourite is Domaine Leroy Musigny – the year doesn't matter because they are all heavenly.”

“You are _such_ a wine snob,” Thomas said affectionately, to which James simply shrugged.

“Hallelujah,” Peggy said dryly.

“Now,” Martha reprimanded, “there is no need for profanities,” this belied the fact that the First Lady herself was known for swearing worse than a sailor.

The group was quiet until Hercules decided that they should sing a few Christmas carols. Alexander was, predictably, all over the idea. He began his own rendition of 'All I Want For Christmas Is You' which had Thomas wincing.

“Hamilton,” Thomas groused, though his voice was slightly slurred, "you have a truly atrocious singing voice. For the love of all that is holy, do kindly shut up."

"You aren't even religious," Alexander rolled his eyes.

"Neither are you," Thomas said with a pointed look, “but here you are, celebrating the birth of Jesus Christ. Look,” he tried again, “if you have ever had even an ounce of consideration for my well-being, please keep quiet. How was it Burr put it? Ah, yes. 'Talk less, smile more',” he imitated Burr's somber voice, to which Alexander scowled.

“Burr also thinks that restrictive clauses are unnecessary,” he said, his tone implying that it was a grave transgression.

Washington let his head fall back as he closed his eyes. “Don't you _dare_ start arguing about the Oxford comma,” he groaned, remembering the time when one of the cabinet meetings mysteriously derailed from discussing the oil crisis to the importance (or the lack thereof, as claimed by Thomas Jefferson) of the Oxford comma.

“But sir, that comma is important–“ Alexander began, to which Thomas scoffed derisively. Alexander glared. “Yes, Jefferson, we know your opinion, but you have lousy opinions, so I have elected to ignore it.”

“So, Alexander,” Lafayette said in an attempt to change the subject. “Did you find a good gift for Burr?”

Alexander scowled, though whether it was at the subject change or at the question, James didn't know. “Yeah, after weeks of endless searching. Let me tell you, finding a gift for Burr is an actual nightmare. I've known him for almost half of my life, and I still don't know what he likes or dislikes or what opinions he has – if he even has them.”

“He does,” James offered, then regretted it as everyone's eyes turned to him.

“And how would you know, Madison?” Alexander's stare was searching, his eyes narrowed, as though trying to see through him.

James shrugged. “I worked with him on one project. It took me quite a bit of effort disguised as the lack of care and wrapped in indifference.”

Alexander perked up. “Is that how I should act?”

James winced. “Well, for you it might not work. One, since you are incapable of keeping quiet and pretending that you don't care,” he mused. “Two, because even if you managed to pull it off, he wouldn't buy it since he knows what you are like.”

“Fuck,” Alexander summed up.

“Language,” Martha reprimanded, the sound far too habitual to be a first occurrence.

“Sorry,” Alexander said, not sounding sorry at all. Martha did not look surprised at that, either.

James was suddenly grateful that Martha had not seen Thomas' texts to James, since Thomas tended to be quite explicit in his texts. James, by contrast, was polite and diplomatic, but always got his point across (oftentimes better than Thomas' unrestrained vulgarity).

Thomas suddenly frowned. “I drugged one of our drinks,” he said, “but I don't remember which one.”

Alexander growled, making as if to strangle Thomas. He was held back at the last moment by Eliza.

“The way this Christmas is going,” James closed his eyes, praying for patience to whatever entity might exist out there, “I hope it's mine.”

“Speaking of stupid things to do,” Eliza said, “I've just discovered that Alex insists on giving Phillip the day off every full moon,” she scowled in Alexander's direction. Alexander did not even have the grace to look repentant. “He says that he wants to test how long it will take for the administration to notice.”

James blinked. “And you aren't doing anything about it?”

Eliza shrugged. “I've just discovered it. And besides, this is Alexander Hamilton. There are much worse things he could have done, and he is actually spending more time with Phillip that way. Besides, Phillip's smart – he can catch up with whatever it is they're doing.”

“Anyway, moving on,” Peggy said. “I'm curious: how many of you are morning people?”

“Thomas is a morning person,” James said casually.

Thomas rolled his eyes. “James' picture is in a thesaurus next to the antonym to 'morning person'.”

John grinned. “Alex is just a stay-awake person,” he said. “Like, I'm not even kidding. He's hyper in the morning. He's hyper in the evening. He's hyper during the night. _All the time_ ,” he emphasized.

“Once, we had to literally drug him to get him to come to sleep,” Eliza contributed with a smirk.

“Mind,” John added, “that it was after he had been awake for five days straight.”

“Which was surprising,” Eliza continued. “He usually collapses after three.”

“I would like to say that I am surprised, but I'm really not,” Hercules said finally. “Back in college, he could pull up to four all-nighters if he was in a flow.”

“On one memorable occasion, he wrote a sixteen-page elaboration of the extermination of mosquitoes,” John reminisced.

“It was a very good paper,” Alexander defended himself.

“Oooh, I remember that time!” Lafayette exclaimed. “It was when he walked into class and just stared at the professor,” he then told the group cheerfully. “He didn't even do anything else. _Il l'a justement, comme, regardé fixement._ It was so creepy.”

“Tone down your French,” Eliza said. “Not all of us are natural polyglots.”

“If I had to learn English, you have to learn French,” Lafayette said stubbornly.

“You were the one who chose to be the American ambassador,” Hercules reminded the Frenchman, “not us. If I had wanted to be the French ambassador, I would have learned French, but I didn't want to, so I didn't.”

Alexander rolled his eyes. “That's a lousy excuse and you know it,” he injected. “I'm Secretary of the Treasury but I can still converse in approximately eight languages, give or take Arabic.”

John rolled his eyes. “Okay, you're drunk,” he decided. “Your vocabulary becomes weirdly specific and complex when you're drunk,” he took away Alexander's glass, ignoring his protests.

“Intoxicated,” Alexander said. “Inebriated. Befuddled. There are so many better ways of saying 'under the influence of alcohol' than 'drunk'. That is so _mundane_.”

Eliza and John exchanged glances. "That answers which drink Thomas drugged," John shrugged.

As one, Eliza and John each grabbed one of Alexander's arms and dragged him up and upstairs. “Okay,” Eliza said as John took on more of Alexander's body weight – not that there was a lot of it in the first place, since Hamilton was super tiny in Thomas' opinion, “we have some matters to attend to, so here's a quick overview: you all have guest rooms upstairs. Mr President, Ma'am,” she inclined her head in the direction of the Washingtons, “you have the first bedroom on the right. “Thomas, James, you have the second. Laf, Herc, you have the third. Angelica, Peggy, you're bunking together in the fourth. See you tomorrow.”

She and John dragged Alexander up the stairs. Thomas and James decided to retire not long after.

* * *

“Finally some peace and quiet,” Thomas closed his eyes, leaning against the closed door of their guest bedroom in Hamilton's house.

James approached the bed and sat down, testing it. He deemed it sufficiently soft and laid down. “You know,” he mused, “it is days like these that make me grateful that I don't have a soulmate.”

Just the words were enough to make Thomas look like a kicked puppy. “I'm sorry if I sound like I don't appreciate Hamilton – well, I don't, not really – but I know how much you wanted a soulmate and for me to just throw away everything that you have ever desired is kind of–“

“It's okay, Thomas,” James said placatingly. “I've come to terms with that aspect of my life. Besides, I have never needed a soulmate: I have _you_. I wouldn't exchange you for any soulmate in the world,” James smiled, gripping Thomas' hand tentatively.

Thomas and James had this weird codependency going on. The two of them weren't even fucking, but Thomas had latched onto James once and hasn't let go yet. He somehow channeled all his positive emotions into James. It was beyond Hamilton, for example, how Thomas could focus solely on one person, but he could if it was James Madison.

Thomas smiled. Come hell or high water (or Hamilton), he would still have James, and that was more important than anything else. Together, they would endure whatever life would throw at them. 

**Author's Note:**

> About the Star Wars reference, because I'm not the only Star Wars nerd here: the 'restore peace to the galaxy' isn't an exact quote of Luke's. It's a quote from someone who is talking about how Palpatine, once the war is over, will relinquish his totalitarian emergency powers and 'restore peace and justice to the galaxy', but it feels like that's basically Luke's sentiment throughout the movies, so here it is.


End file.
